Reflections
by flowinthestream12
Summary: Stiles is desperate for some control in his unraveling life: he has frontotemporal dementia, insomnia, PTSD, & the Nogitsune has made a home inside of his head. This is the loudest silent cry for help that he has ever given. Will his friends hear it? Warning: weight loss triggers. No slash. Nogitsune!Stiles.
1. Mirror, Mirror

Scott furrowed his brows after Stiles brought down the cereal bowl. It wasn't as deep nor broad as the dinner bowls were. There were a few of those left in the cabinet. Stiles averted his doe eyes from Scott and proceeded to the minestrone steaming on the stove. Scott sipped from his spoon obnoxiously, trying to get a reaction out of Stiles.

Scott had made every effort to not make Stiles feel like a freak. But, he was torn between bringing up the topic to assure his friend of his loyal support and keeping his mouth shut. He didn't want to upset Stiles. Stiles reached for the ladle and was filling his bowl when he finally cleared his throat.

"Can you please stop watching me like I'm about to implode?" he asked firmly before leading the way to the family room.

Scott joined him on the couch, "I'm not."

"You are," Stiles disagreed sharply, stirring his little serving of soup and blowing on it.

"I am _not_!" Scott insisted.

Stiles gave him such a dirty look that he was almost unrecognizable, "Just turn on the TV."

Scott looked at his best friend wearily, shrinking away like he had been stung, before stretching for the remote on the short table. The silence settled between them again, punctuated a few times by Scott slurping his minestrone as quietly as he could. Scott was starting to regret agreeing to sleeping-over for the night. Stiles stirred his soup, scratching the ceramic bowl with his metal spoon as he went. Neither of them could focus on the reality TV show Scott had settled on.

He could hardly remember a time when Stiles was this quiet. Stiles was never quiet. There was always something tumbling out of his mouth if not a laugh. Stiles always had something to say even if it didn't make any sense at all. Scott listened to Stiles quietly drinking his soup before setting on the short table, abandoning all effort to finish it. This concerned Scott even more than Stiles not talking.

Stiles was notorious for always being hungry, especially since they started playing sports. Scott was nearly done with his soup and Stiles had hardly made a dent in his much smaller portion.

Scott finally spoke up, "Listen and don't bite my head off: are you feeling alright?"

Stiles had his arms crossed gruffly over his sunken stomach, "Never better."

"I'm serious, Stiles -"

Stiles scoffed, "So am I!" He suddenly unraveled himself from his couch and got to his feet, "Just stay here and watch the show. I'll be back."

It was such an alien feeling to have seen Stiles behave so crossly with him. But, Scott could see that he was not getting through to him. Something was obviously wrong and, for some reason, Stiles didn't want to discuss it with his best friend.

Stiles made his way to the nearest bathroom, reaching for an Advil container in the medicine cabinet. He popped two pills into his mouth and swallowed them with water he cupped in his hand from the sink. Stiles did not want to look at his reflection in the mirror. He knew what he would see. With some effort, he lifted his eyes to lock with the gaze of his reflection. His formally round, youthful face had been aged over the last few weeks by tiredness and weight loss.

He hardly looked seventeen anymore. He looked maybe a whole decade older. It was most obvious in his hollowed-out cheeks and protruding collar bone. Stiles bit his lip at the sight and tugged his v-neck shirt up to his sharpened chin.

"_Stop it_!" he begged tearfully, whimpering while squeezing his eyes shut. "_Please_ ... _just stop it, please_ -"

There was no one in the bathroom to beg of. But, he said this repeatedly with his eyes still squeezed shut. He could feel his brain pounding against his skull and knew that a migraine was brewing. He could practically taste it. It would take time for the Advil to get into his bloodstream.

Stiles's eyes opened as he reached for the Advil bottle again and screamed at what he saw in the mirror. Ignoring the sounds of Scott racing to his bathroom at the sound of his cry, Stiles stared agape fearfully at his reflection. It was like a window had replaced the mirror, for the Stiles in the reflection was not mirroring his movements. His reflection was standing stalk still with his head tilted ever so slightly to the left. After a few moments of his reflection staring at him unblinkingly ... it grinned a terrible smile that did not reach its blank eyes.

"STILES?!" Scott yelled for him, his fist banging against the other side of the locked bathroom door ... Stiles didn't remember locking it. "Stiles, what's wrong? What's going on? Open the door, Stiles!" Scott asked rapidly and waited briefly for Stiles to respond before banging on the door one more time, "_STILES_?!"

Still catching his breath, Stiles turned his back on the mirror just as his reflection started to cackle darkly. Evidently, Scott could not hear it. Stiles jiggled the doorknob before realizing that it was locked and freed himself. Scott stepped back as Stiles came tumbling out of the bathroom and onto the floor, shaking from head to toe. In the fall, his shirt had risen up to reveal his protruding ribs. Scott was too focused on Stiles's fearful face to notice the deepening trenches in between Stiles's ribs.

Stiles shuffled weakly away from the bathroom and propped himself up on the opposite wall. Scott nodded when he saw that Stiles was unharmed, no more than a bruise from the fall, and stepped into the bathroom to take a look. He hardly paid any attention to the mirror. He did not expect to see anyone else other than himself. That was all that he would see, for Stiles's reflection was gone.

Stiles gulped for air and blinked up at his best friend when Scott stepped back out into the hallway, "Did you see him?"

"There's nobody else in there, Stiles." Scott told him, kneeling down before him. "What happened, man?"

Stiles realized that he was clutching his fist over his heart and relaxed that hand, it sliding down to the floor.

"Nothing," he lied lamely, wincing.

He then was reminded of his migraine when it swelled insistently in his head and Stiles moaned, leaning forward and resting his forehead on the heels of his palms. Scott did not know what to think. He had not imagined Stiles screaming the way he did and he never wanted to hear it ever again. It had been such a terrifying and sad sound, he could still hear the wail in his ears like it was echoing in his mind.

Scott heard the front door open and shut. He could hear Officer Stilinski moving around in the kitchen.

"My head," Stiles moaned almost incoherently. "Ow, my head! _Damn it_!" Scott reached out to help him back to his feet, but, Stiles jerked away, "No ... please. Don't touch me, please."

"OK," Scott obliged, holding his hands up. "I just heard your Dad. I'm gonna go get him -"

Stiles suddenly grabbed Scott's wrist and shook his head, pulling him back weakly. Scott was alarmed at how Stiles had to struggle to pull him back. Sure, Scott was a werewolf and an alpha one at that now. But, Stiles had been stronger than his waif-like stature would give off. Certainly stronger than this. Scott blamed the fall.

Maybe Stiles was more injured than he had previously judged. Scott rested his hand on top of Stiles's wrapped around his wrist and took a deep breath. There was the pain: a migraine. Maybe Stiles had screamed about it. The pain was mounting to an excruciating level.

_But, what about the weird question about whether or not he had seen someone in the bathroom when Scott had checked?_ Scott pressed his hand gently against Stiles's forehead and felt the heat there. Stiles skin was warm and clammy. Scott took away as much of the pain as he could and Stiles moaned thankfully, his head dropping backwards to rest against the wall he was leaning his back on.

Stiles then seemed to pick up the sounds of his father serving himself some soup, "Please, don't tell him what happened. Scott?" He turned his baleful doe eyes up to his best friend, "Please, Scott. He doesn't have to know. It was just a migraine -"

Scott whispered back, "What about the person you saw? Can't blame _that_ on a migraine -"

"Please," Stiles begged again, his voice still trembling slightly. "He doesn't have to know. He worries enough already about me. Please?"

Scott nodded reluctantly, "OK, Stiles. I just hope you're not making me do this if you're really hurting -"

"It's almost gone now. Thanks," Stiles added, smiling up at Scott.

He tried to get up but slipped back down immediately.

Scott scoffed humorlessly, "You certainly don't_ look_ like you're hurting."

Stiles was averting his eyes from the bathroom door. Scott had turned the lights off and it was ominously dark. He felt like if he looked, he'd hear that evil cackle again. Without waiting for Stiles to protest, Scott hooked his hands in his armpits and heaved Stiles to his unsteady feet. There was another shock: _when had Stiles become so light? _

_ Was it because Scott was now an alpha and stronger, or had Stiles changed in body weight?_ Stiles had let out a whimper while Scott had lifted him to his feet.

"_Argh_! Show-off," Stiles added after the sad little whimper. "You and your wolf-powers."

Scott drapped one of Stiles's arms around his neck and guided him to Stiles's bedroom, "I'm gonna call it a night."

After depositing his sick friend on his bed, Scott stepped away. Stiles caught a glimpse of himself in one of the many reflections in his bedroom and felt his heart jump into his throat. He froze where he had been swaying exhaustedly on his bed and Scott did not miss it.

"Stiles?" Scott peered down at him worriedly. "Are you OK -?"

"Go home," Stiles said firmly, harshly, not meeting Scott's shocked look.

Scott frowned, "What?"

He had heard Stiles. He had just not recognized the harsh voice that had come out of his friend's mouth. It sounded a lot like the voice Stiles had been using in the kitchen. But, it was worse. It was mean, heartless. It wasn't Stiles.

"Go home, Scott." Stiles still wouldn't look him in the eye, he did not want Scott to see the fear there. "I'm tired. I just want to sleep. Go home."

Scott couldn't take any more of Stiles's mood swings. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but, it was hurting his feelings.

Scott took a step back, feeling angry, "What the hell is wrong with you, man?"

Stiles only lifted his gaze when he heard Scott close his door. He winced at the finality of the sound. Stiles was choked by guilt and loneliness. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in a framed photo and he heard his voice cackling again. Stiles worked his way quickly beneath his blankets and hid his head, crying into his pillow.


	2. Reconciliation

When Scott saw Stiles next, it was that following Tuesday. Stiles had not shown up at school the day before and Scott had left him text messages and a few unanswered calls before finally recognizing defeat: Stiles still did not want to talk to him. But, he still couldn't hide his relief when he saw Stiles cross the threshold to their history class. That relief quickly was swallowed up by concern again. Stiles looked even worse than he had on their sleepover he canceled.

Scott never wanted to hear Stiles tell him to go away ever again. His protective instincts were kicking in full tilt. Stiles was wearing a very baggy old hoodie, the strings of which were badly chewed, loose-fitting denim jeans that must be held up by a belt, and weathered leather flip-flops.

Their teacher had noticed Stiles's reappearance, too, and Scott watched from afar as Stiles was directed to the teacher's desk at the front of the class. Scott had to employ his werewolf hearing to hear what the teacher had to say.

"I wanted to let you know that I will not be calling you up to read aloud after the incident," the teacher promised him in a low whisper.

Stiles cocked his brows sarcastically, "Right, because humiliating myself in front of the whole class after I asked you to pick someone else because I was clearly uncomfortable is my biggest worry."

Scott was confused by Stiles's rudeness. The teacher had been kind enough to acknowledge his mistake. Evidently, the sour attitude from Friday night had not gone away. But, Scott was not about to let Stiles slip through his fingers. Stiles looked like hell. His dark hair had been combed with little to zero effort.

It usually defied gravity and was neatly styled. Curiously, it limped over to one side as though it too had lost its will. His characteristic white-as-snow skin had a more waxy texture to it. The bags under his eyes were darkening and slightly puffy. The newly sharpened angles to his face were drawing unwanted glances from curious fellow juniors.

If Scott had been out of his mind with worry the moment before Stiles walked through the door, it was nothing compared to now.

Two words would not leave his mind in silence: _frontotemporal dementia_.

Stiles's mother had died from it. Scott's mother was bound by doctor-patient confidentiality. She couldn't tell her son all of the symptoms that led to Stiles's brain being scanned. But, Scott did not need to be explained about it. He knew that something was going on with Stiles.

They were once figuratively attached at the hip. They hung out every single day. It was once considered odd and strange if they spent more than a day apart. That of course changed a little when Scott was dating Alison. He would know instantly if something was up with Stiles ... wouldn't he?

Scott remembered Stiles sobbing into his shoulder while they embraced in the hospital and he remembered rocking him from side to side, trying in vain to console him. That day, Stiles didn't want to die. His fight to live was still strong enough to bring tears for fear of death. But, he was a different Stiles today. He looked like he had given-up.

Stiles turned away from his teacher and had taken no more than a step or two away from the front desk when his gate got shaky. Scott watched him, trying so hard to catch his doe eyes. His desk was in the aisle to the right and one desk back. If he felt confident enough that Stiles wouldn't snap at him, he could reach his tan arm out to touch Stile's shoulder. Stiles winced when he sank down into his desk too quickly.

He had lost weight he could not afford to in the first place, making it quite painful to sit on hard surfaces. He had also brushed his protruding hip bone against the corner of the desk. Stiles tried to sink down low in the seat so that not all of his weigh was pressing down on his backside. He could not bear to look at Scott. He had convinced himself that he had pissed off his best friend and that Scott wouldn't want to talk to him after he ignored his calls and texts all weekend.

In order to avoid being dragged to another doctor, Stiles forced himself to go to school today. He was still avoiding reflections for fear of seeing the Nogitsune. His father had allowed him to skip the day before, thinking that Stiles needed time to adjust to his dire diagnosis. His anxiety over whether or not his friendship with Scott was still strong was worse than any pain or fears he had.

He hoped he would regret this ...

Scott watched Stiles turn to gaze at him over his pointy shoulder. Their eyes met and after a long moment, Scott bowed his head to him. He could read the apology written all over Stiles's brown eyes.

"Are you okay?" He mouthed to his best friend.

Stiles gave him a small shrug and a forced smile tugged at the corner of his mouth that Scott could see. He didn't want to tell Scott yet about the diagnosis. Stiles's heart had leapt at Scott's nod. Of course they were still friends! He had been stupid to think that Scott would desert him over a few missed calls and unanswered texts. Scott too was feeling immense relief at this silent contact.

The class had never seemed longer than it had that day. A few times, the class was interrupted by Stiles's hungry stomach growling, demanding to be fed. Stiles was indeed embarrassed by this, but, it eventually passed. Now he felt like he was floating. He could not focus on anything.

By the end of class, his head had made its way from the heel of his palm down to resting on his forearm to his textbook. He was past the point of hungry. He was starving and the whole class knew it judging by their quiet snickers at the grumbling roars from his empty stomach. Scott had no chance of concentrating on the class and those growls from Stiles's stomach made him remember Stiles abandoning his minestrone soup on Friday night. He doubted again that Stiles was eating as much as he should.

He certainly looked thinner. Scott hoped that it was just his anxiety over Stiles's health talking. Scott started to zone out, rereading one word again and again in his textbook while his teacher droned on. He was blinded by thoughts of losing Stiles. He felt a lump rising in his throat and he rubbed his eyes when he felt the slightest hint that they were welling with tears.

He had to get it together. He was in public. Scott knew that Stiles would tell him if he had been diagnosed with frontotemporal dementia. He knew Stiles loved him enough to warn him of what was to come if it were to come too soon. So, maybe Stiles had not brought it up because there was nothing to tell.

Scott would wait till Stiles instigated the conversation.


	3. Hunger

When the bell rang for class to be over, both Scott and Stiles seemed to jolt out of their separate reveries. Scott was on his feet faster than Stiles, whom had not even bothered to open his textbook and was still taking longer to repack his backpack. After all, he was having difficulty reading. For a moment, Stiles thought he heard the Nogitsune cackling when the classroom door open and he flinched.

But, then the sound melted into the dull hum of the corridor filling with students for lunch.

Scott waited in front of his desk, watching Stiles lift his backpack onto his lap, "Hurry up, bro. Let's get some Reeces. I'm famished."

Stiles chuckled, "_'Famished'_? Using big words now, Alpha?"

Scott's happiness levels were rising just by hearing Stiles respond to him. He forgave him unconditionally for not answering his calls and texts. Stiles was talking to him now.

"Come on, I heard your stomach." Scott smiled, playfully nudging the desk with his knee as Stiles got to his feet.

It was just as painful to stand back up as it had been to sit in his seat for his backside. Stiles hid his pain successfully and got to his feet with hope that Scott still didn't suspect anything was wrong. His head felt like it had doubled in weight. He wondered if it was because of his diagnosis.

"I'm sure people in Japan heard it," Stiles groaned, leading the way out of the classroom.

Scott laughed halfheartedly, "Yeah. They probably thought it was Godzilla roaring."

Food sounded wonderful to Stiles. He had hardly eaten over the weekend, for he had kept himself mostly to his room where he was sure not to pass any reflections. He had been too afraid to even use his laptop. Stiles had forced down a glass of milk and an omelet this morning with a side of toast. But, it had been as difficult as it had not been enough.

His shrinking, lanky, 5'11" frame was positively screaming for nourishment. They were halfway to their destination when Stiles remembered that he had not left his paper lunch bag on the kitchen counter back at home that his father had packed for him. He listened to Scott lie about having a busy weekend while he dug in his pockets for quarters. He had read Scott's texts and listened to his voicemails. Scott had not done much outside of worrying about him and that made Stiles feel all the more guilty.

"I wanna see that movie," Stiles murmured, digging to China in his pockets.

Scott frowned, "What movie?"

They had pulled up to the vending machine and Stiles had come up empty handed, "_Godzilla_. It looked cool."

The reflection on the glass of the vending machine wasn't strong so Stiles didn't bother hiding from it. It was like a pang to Stiles's heart to make even something as simple as movie plans in the future, even close in distance as a month or two. He didn't want to be dramatic, but, he doubted he'd last till the end of the week let alone make it to the summer.

"You weren't listening to me," Scott sighed, but, he did not seem truly annoyed.

He had been lying about being busy that weekend anyway. He stuck his quarters in and his pick came tumbling down after a few pushes of buttons. Stiles frowned when he saw that two Reece's had fallen. Scott dipped down low to pull them out and handed one to Stiles.

"You haven't worn those clothes in years," Scott explained to him. "You weren't going to find any change in them. I noticed you digging for treasure in all of your pockets on the way over here."

Stiles wasn't listening again. His trembling fingers were fighting the wrapper off and he was shoving a whole Reece into his mouth by the time Scott had straightened back up again. Scott had underestimated how hungry Stiles was. Scott watched Stiles warily as they made their way outside. Stiles was still working on chewing the whole first one when they stepped out the door.

Scott felt compelled to play the parental card, "_Chew_, dude. Chew _then_ swallow. Take smaller bites next time -"

With some effort, Stiles managed to swallow it and gasped, "I'm good. _It's_ good." He fished out the second, "It's all good now."

That had been uncomfortable and he could have choked himself. So, Stiles did take a few bites out of his last. Scott had seen Stiles when he was most vulnerable. He had seen him have a panic attack once in class and had carried him to the hall bathroom. He had even helped him get through it.

It was not easy watching his friend get weak. Stiles may not be a werewolf or any other kind of supernatural creature. But, he was strong. He had to be.

"When's the last time you ate?" Scott asked as they made their way to their usual lunch table.

Alison, Isaac, and Lydia were not there yet.

Stiles gave him what he was hoping was a reassuring grin, hoping that it filled out his sunken cheeks, and avoided the question, "I look that bad?"

"You're eating too fast," Scott commented, his voice dropping as they neared the table. "You hardly ate dinner last I saw you," he felt the tension in the air when he mentioned their failed sleepover, "Those noises you were making just now ... I was preparing myself to give you the Heimlich."

"As long as it's not mouth to mouth," Stiles chuckled, turning up his nose.

He sat down on the bench opposite Scott tenderly. Scott saw Stiles wince when he sank down onto his bench and pursed his lips, furrowing his black brows. Stiles looked as though he were aching all over.

Scott watched Stiles notice that they were sitting alone, "Isaac's in the hospital. There was an accident. He got electrocuted."

Stiles frowned, "He's still there?"

Scott had told him about Isaac's accident the night of his brain scan appointment. He could not recover his memory from getting from the hospital back to his house and that still scared Stiles.

"Yeah," Scott replied as he fanned out his hearty lunch.

Stiles nibbled at the last bits of his second Reece, waiting for Scott to notice that he had not brought a lunch. He hoped that he would share. Scott fished out his lunch from his backpack. It was a healthy lunch fit for a lacrosse player, healthy for an alpha werewolf. Scott pushed one of his PBJ sandwiches to Stiles and gave him nonverbal permission to take anything he wanted. Stiles abandoned his Reece's wrapper and unwrapped the PBJ.

"Where's Lydia?" Stiles asked after taking a bite, "Or Allison? Yeah, where the hell is everyone?"

Scott shrugged, "I don't know about Lydia, but, Allison is probably visiting Isaac."

"Are they together?" Stiles asked Scott, his exhaustion and hunger making him sound insensitive.

Scott decided, for the sake of the greater problem, not to take offense, "She stayed the night at the hospital, waiting to see him. So, I guess they might be. I don't know."

He watched covertly for Stiles to eat at a safe pace while eating his sandwich. Stiles was worried that, after eating a small PBJ and a set of Reece's, his concaved stomach was already feeling tight. He could not possibly be full already. The pair of friends had an eating contest more than once and Stiles almost always was the winner. But, his stomach disagreed this time.

Stiles gave the rest of Scott's spread a look of longing, but, resigned to listen to his body's cues. He couldn't afford to give himself a stomach ache.

"Take whatever you want, man." Scott kindly authorized.

Stiles furrowed his brows, but, not at his friend, "That's alright. I guess I'm done."

Scott sighed, it was like the breath before a battle, "You go too long without eating, Stiles. I've got a nurse for a mom."

"You talk about me with your _mom_?" Stiles asked indignantly.

Scott rolled his eyes, "I know things like that. Your letting your stomach muscles shrink too much. You should make yourself eat more, loosen it back up -"

Stiles cocked his brows and smiled humorlessly, "Don't you think you're being just a _tad_ overbearing?"

Scott sighed again, bitting his lower lip, "Please, don't do this. Don't make this Friday all over again."

"I thought we agreed not to talk about it," Stiles grumbled, playing with the plastic wrap.

Scott argued back, "I did not agree to that -"

"Can't you just forget about it?" said Stiles imploringly, glancing up at Scott from the plastic wrap.

Scott raised his voice impatiently, "_Stiles_!" He saw Stiles flinch, dropping the rolled-up plastic wrap, and he lowered his voice again, "I can't 'just forget about it'. Alright? It happened, man. Stiles, that was one of the scariest moments of my life. You screamed and you _told _me that someone was in the bathroom with you -"

"Remember that I also told you it was the migraine talking?" Stiles snapped, shifting uncomfortably.

Silence fell between them. This was a battle neither could win, not when they loved each other so much. Stiles wished that Scott knew that he was protecting him. The two longtime friends glared at each other without hate. Scott could see the uncharacteristic aggression brewing in Stiles's scowl. For a split second, he couldn't recognize the young man across from him.

"Fine. Have it your way," Scott sighed, looking away. "Just know that when you're ready to talk about that night ... I'm all ears."

And the blade of guilt sliced across Stiles's throat yet again.


	4. Treacherous Waters

Stiles did not know where his bravery had gone. He had been vulnerable with Scott's mother about his symptoms. His father had been documenting them as well over the last half a month. But, Stiles had taken the initiative once. His father knew, Scott's mother likely knew the results, too.

She had been at his father's side while the scan was forming. _Now why couldn't he tell Scott_? Stiles did not want to see Scott cry ever again let alone be the reason for his tears. Scott was his best friend. He had stepped into a pool of gasoline for Scott while the latter was holding a lit stick of dynamite once before.

He was willing to risk his life for him. But, he just couldn't bring himself to tell Scott that there was no way he could do the same for him this time. Not this time. He would not invite him into his world with the Nogitsune. He would suffer in silence for as long as he could control himself.

"Stiles, are you listening?" he heard the voice of his father echo.

Stiles jerked out of his reverie and remembered that he was sitting at his desk, "Yeah, Dad. What?"

"I won't be home till late. I know you'll still be up, but, I wanted to tell you in the off chance you'll ... that you'll get some sleep." said Sheriff Stilinski regretfully.

Stiles leaned heavily on his elbow on top of his desk and scratched at his hair, feeling the flakes fall past his ear.

"You should take a shower, Stiles." his father commented. "You need it and it'll relax you."

Stiles had only been using the toilet in the restroom for the last few days. When his anxiety got too much to overcome, he'd relieve himself in the backyard. He was alone a lot of the time, so, this wasn't difficult. He just knew that it was pathetic. He was afraid of being vulnerable in a shower.

The tub slick with water, shampoo, and soap ... it would be the Nogitsune's playground.

"Sure, I'll get right on that," Stiles feigned a smile, letting his boney hand drop to the desk.

"Good," Sheriff Stilinski grinned. "'Cause you're starting to stink."

Stiles raised his brows and scoffed halfheartedly, "Thanks, Dad."

Before he ducked his head to leave, his father added, "And eat something, too. You're getting too -"

"Dad, I've _always_ been skinny." Stiles reminded him, smiling at him reassuringly.

That smile was genuine and it felt good. Almost like a laugh. His father hovered uncertainly by the door, clearly not consoled.

"Wanna call Scott and see if he can come over?" his father suggested hopefully. "You two could do homework together or something -"

Stiles got out of his chair and walked over to his doorframe, supporting himself on it by gripping the frame, "Dad, Scott's a busy guy. He can't keep his eye on me twenty-four-seven. You've got your camera installed in here. You can see if I'm OK from wherever you go. Don't worry about me."

Stiles voice had progressively grown more shaky as he tried to convince his father ... and himself. His father seemed to take in just how sickly his son now looked and appeared to be on verge of announcing he's quitting his job. But, eventually ... after a extra moment or two in which Stiles looked at the floor and his father analyzed his face ... Sheriff Stilinski reluctantly trudged away down the hallway. Once his father was out of sight, Stiles dropped back into his desk chair and hung his head over the back of it, groaning.

He now worried that if he did not shower on his own, his dad would hire some nurse to take care of his son while he's away. Losing his independence was not something he'd let happen without a fight. He knew that this would happen eventually, when more areas of his brain went dead. But, he promised himself right there that he'd postpone that moment for as long as possible.

His lower lip trembling, Stiles pulled himself to his feet and went to his bathroom. He looked at the navy blue towel he had tucked around his mirror. He had not seen his reflection in days and was curious to know what everyone else was seeing. Stiles took a deep breath and tugged at the bath towel. It slid down the surface of the mirror and crumbled into a pile in his sink.

Stiles gasped ... and it wasn't because of the Nogitsune. Well, indirectly. He looked worse than he had that previous Friday. His baggy eyes were darker and his cheeks were even more sunken. His brow bone was also becoming more apparent. Stiles grunted as he pulled his hoodie up over his head and let it fall to the floor. His torso was nearly sapped of whatever fat he couldn't afford to lose.

He poked at his protruding hip bones and stroked his fingers along the waist of his jeans to unlock the belt. Without even pulling the zipper, his jeans fell down in a heap around his bulging ankles.

"Great," Stiles swore sadly. "I've got a freakin' _thigh-gap_ now? _Seriously_? Great. Just _great_."

Indeed, when he pressed his heels together, his hairy and pale thighs could not touch each other. Shivering in just his pinstriped boxers, his white teeth chattering together, Stiles dipped down to turn on the shower head ... it wasn't working. The water was only coming out of the faucet and something was preventing it from raining out of the shower head. Cursing under his breath, Stiles slipped out of his boxers and lifted his leg to sit in his bathtub. He just happened to glance up at his shadow casted up on the wall opposite him and noticed that there were two.

A man not much taller than he was, wearing khaki pants, a dark pullover, and his face wrapped in gauze was standing behind him.

The Nogitsune snarled in his ear, "Give me a thing that runs but cannot walk. Sometimes it sings, but, it never talks. It lacks arms, but, it has hands. It lacks a head, but, it has a face." It chuckled darkly, "The answer is _clock_ ... and it is ticking faster, Stiles."

Before he could do more than look terrified, Stiles felt himself shoved into the wall and he crumbled into the bathtub ... the water still rising.


	5. Return

Scott was staring at the same word in a paragraph of his Economics textbook, his thoughts entirely off topic. It took conscious effort to not nitpick at Stiles's appearance and behavior. His earlier resolve to wait for Stiles to tell him what was wrong was growing thinner by the hour. Scott finally tore his gaze from the page to check his phone. As he was scooping it into his hands, it vibrated. Scott tossed it into the air out of surprise.

"Hello?" Scott said when he answered it.

Sheriff Stilinksi began a little shakily, "H-Hey, Scott. It's Stiles's dad."

"Hi - Hello, sir." Scott fumbled as he composed himself. "What's up?" He then felt dread, "Is Stiles's alright?"

He instantly got a mental picture of his best friend lying lifeless on a gurney in the hospital. Stiles had hardly eaten at lunch - well, not in Scott's opinion. A Reece's and a PBJ sandwich would have him starving within the next half hour. But, then again, Stiles has always been the thinner one of the pair. Maybe he didn't need as much -

"Y-Yes, he's fine." The sheriff sounded more like he had been trying to convince himself rather than answer the question honestly. "But ..."

Scott could hear that Sheriff Stilinski was driving his cruiser, "'But'?"

Scott wasn't convinced that Stiles was entirely alright. His father calling him about Stiles didn't help quiet his suspicions.

The sheriff sighed, "I was hoping you could drop by my house and keep an eye on him. Could you do that for me?" Scott began tying his sneakers as soon as he got the request as Stiles's dad continued, "He's putting on a brave face, you know, since we got the ... the news."

Stiles had frontal temporal dementia ... and he had not told Scott. This was what he had been dreading since the day of the scan. The aglets of his shoelaces dropped out of his benumbed fingertips right when he heard Sheriff Stilinski say to him 'got the news', but, Scott managed to keep his composure. Or maybe he was in shock.

"I've got security cameras and an alarm system installed." Sheriff Stilinski was continuing, "But, you know, I'd feel a lot better going to work knowing someone was there in case there's another ... another 'episode' like we had recently."

The episode in question had been Stiles sleepwalking out into the woods when the temperature dropped to the twenties. It had been a stroke of luck that Mr. McCall had found Stiles in time. Stiles still had to be admitted to the hospital which was how they came to decide to have him tested for anything wrong with his brain. Now, Scott knew for sure that something was wrong. Something deadly wrong.

Scott cleared his throat, which felt like it had been knotted by a Boy Scout, "S-Sure, sir. I'll get there straight away!"

"Appreciate it," Sheriff Stilinski thanked him just as he pulled in to the station.

Scott snatched up the keys to his motorcycle and his helmet, nearly forgetting his license in his haste to get there right away.

* * *

The side of Stiles's face was sliding steadily down the wall of his bath tub, his long neck turned like a bow, his hips bruised against the rim of the tub, and his knees also bruised against the tiled floor. His feet were bent at odd angles - one possibly twisted in the fall, but, neither broken. There was a cut cracked across the skin of his left temple, blood drooling over the eye below and pinking the water as it dripped off his chin. His boney hands were curled beneath him and the water was mere inches from rising to his mouth. He had maybe a minute to regain consciousness.

Inside his mind, Stiles found himself standing in the basement of Echo House. It was colder than it had been before ... because he was soaking wet. He was also only wearing his boxers whereas the first time he had been wearing his pajamas at the very least. Stiles could see his breath curling out in front of his nose like smoke. His hips and knees hurt.

When he tasted metal, he realized that a brook of blood was dripping down the left side of his face.

"The water is rising, Stiles." he heard a nasally hoarse voice call out to him in the darkened basement.

"W-Why d-don't you c-c-come o-out here and f-face me?" Stiles demanded bravely and added after there was no response, "You're a coward!"

Those were the only words he could say without stuttering from his shivering. Stiles was so cold that he was convulsing where he stood, dripping all over the floor. His knobby knees were knocking together like his chattering teeth. He had his arms crossed like an anaconda over his chest and he doubled over with the effort to get warm.

"We will drown if you do not let me take control," the Nogitsune appeared at the top of the staircase leading to the rest of the asylum and Stiles flinched in that direction.

The Nogitsune was appearing as his former victim, a soldier that had worked at the incarceration camp in WWII who had died from severe third degree burns. He was wearing the uniform, but, had his face and hands concealed in gauze. There was only a slit for his silver fangs to show.

"Do you really think you'll get out of this one?" It started to descend the staircase, "You got lucky the last time. But, no one's looking for you tonight ... not now that your father has installed all that technology. Too bad you said 'no' to a camera in your bathroom ..."

The Nogitsune was not lying. It was using the truth to taunt him, terrorize him. There was no security camera in Stiles's bathroom. He had insisted on his privacy and his father hadn't needed that much persuading on the matter anyway.

"We were there when you told him 'no'. We are always listening, Stiles. We will take advantage of your insecurities -"

"I'm m-mod-dest," Stiles growled, attempting to take a step towards the staircase and keeping his drooping eyes on the Nogitsune. "I-I d-didn't w-wan-n-na sh-show off-f."

He had probably dropped in weight considerably since the last time he had been taken here in his head. Stiles knew that it was just a 'dream' and that the Nogitsune couldn't hurt him here ... as far as he knew. What else was true was that he was utterly alone in his house in real life. His father could not know that he was about to drown in his own bathtub. The Nogitsune was completely right.

"Your father shall find your drowned, skeletal corpse in the morning!" Promised the Nogitsune, "None the wiser."

But, perhaps it was better that way. Isaac was still in the hospital after being electrocuted by the Nogitsune. Who else was the Nogitsune going to hurt in Stiles's life? The Nogitsune had been wrong to wage Stiles's life against those of his family and friends. Stiles would choose to die for them every time.

He had to distract the Nogitsune and drown.

* * *

Just as the water was lapping at Stiles's pale lips, Scott pulled up at the curb of the Stilinski residence. He was feeling jittery, his heart excited into a panic in a terrible way. He felt angry at Stiles for not telling him about the fatal diagnosis. He was also panicking to see if he was okay.

The time had come for the confrontation.

* * *

Although he was already drenched, Stiles was fearfully surprised by water suddenly dripping into his mouth. He frowned and tried to spit it all out, but, it was just refilling his mouth each time. He had not expected to be this scared. His weakened heart began to race.

"You had better let me in, Stiles!" The Nogitsune ran down the steps and stopped in front of Stiles gagging and staggering. "You cannot wake up on your own! We are drowning, Stiles! Let me in! LET ME IN!" He stooped over Stiles, whom was doubled over further and spewing water onto the icy floor, "WE CAN SAVE YOU, STILES!"

Stiles could not speak even if he wanted to. His mouth was full of water and it was slipping into his lungs. Stiles tried to swallow as much as he could, but, he was drowning. He could only glare up at the Nogitsune before his trembling knees buckled, sending him crashing to the cold concrete floor. He couldn't hear anything, not even the Nogitsune's roared words, for his head was pounding.

Stiles fell forward and rolled onto his side as he continued to wretch convulsively, his bloodshot eyes wide with terror. But, it was all going to be over soon. He had never been in such pain before. His brain felt like it was being wailed on by a sledge hammer. It was the last time ...

* * *

Scott punched in the code to enter the house without setting off the security alarm. He hoped he wouldn't make Stiles angry by checking in on him. He was after all doing a favor for Sheriff Stilinski ... although, he'd be lying if he said that he wasn't taking advantage of it. He wanted to see for himself that Stiles was doing alright ... well, as well as he could manage. He wanted to confront him. He wanted to demand an explanation.

Scott bolted up the stairs, his feet thudding loudly as they fell on each step, "Stiles!" He propelled himself faster with his hand on the railing, "Stiles, it's Scott. Stiles?"

He could hear the water running in what sounded like a bathtub, what with the way the water echoed. Scott saw that Stiles's bedroom door was open and glanced inside. Stiles wasn't there.

"Stiles?" Scott called.

He reached the bathroom and found himself in a state of deja vu. The door was locked.

* * *

Stiles was near this last breaths when he heard a voice calling out to him through the rushing noise in his ears. The Nogitsune looked up in the direction of the voice, too. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, urging himself to wake-up. As the seconds past, the voice grew louder and the rushing died out. It was Scott.

"You cannot awaken without me!" The Nogitsune warned again. "Scott cannot help you! LET ME IN, STILES!"

Stiles's eyes were rolling upward behind his eyelids, the whites of them peaking between the eyelids.

"I WILL KILL SCOTT IF HE TRIES -"

The knob near the faucet mysteriously turned on its own, urging the water to rise faster. The water which had been filling the tub slowly, was now surging upward over Stiles's nose.

* * *

Scott gripped the doorknob and turned with his alpha strength, disengaging the lock so hard that the knob fell off on the other side. Scott shoved the door open and a lot of things happened in the span of seconds. He saw that Stiles's half-naked body was hooked lifelessly over the ledge of the bathtub. He could see every vertebra of Stiles's spine, from the ones that connected to his skull to the one just before his sacrum. He could even see the back of his pelvis at this angle. Stiles's head was entirely under the water pinked with blood.

"STILES!" he cried, his voice cracking, as he gripped his hands underneath Stiles's arms and tugged.

Stiles was so light that he needn't used so much strength, but, he was in a state of panic. He yanked Stiles out of the water and held his limp body to his chest. Scott hurriedly laid Stiles out on his back on the tiled floor and opened Stiles's mouth after tilting his head back. He pinched his upturned nose closed and closed his mouth around Stiles's, trying to dislodge the water in his lungs.

"Come on, Stiles!" Scott urged as he pumped on Stiles's chest, "Stiles! Come on, man! Breathe!" He breathed into Stiles again and resumed pounding on his chest, "COME ON! STILES -"

After two rounds of CPR, Stiles suddenly - and miraculously - gagged to life, his eyes popping open. Scott grinned broadly, thankfully, and helped Stiles roll over onto his front so that he could puke out all of the water from this lungs. The floor was a complete mess.

Scott hit Stiles on the back to help urge the water out, "Stiles! Can you hear me?"

After several minutes of Stiles gasping and water surging out of his mouth, the two friends faced each other. Stiles looked up at Scott like a puppy stuck out in a frigid storm. Scott tore the towel down from the rack and drapped it over Stiles's shoulders.

"Stiles, what the hell happened?"

Stiles was still breathing shallowly, "I ... I ... I don't ... I don't know." He pressed his hand to his left temple, feeling the cut and blood oozing there. "I fell?"

He did not remember what had transpired inside his mind. The blow to his head had erased it all. Stiles only felt dread, like he had been warned about something. He clutched at the towel around his shoulders and dropped his gaze to his badly bruised knees and winced over the pain in his protruding hipbones. The front of Scott's clothes was peppered with blotches of water.

"I'm going to call 9-1-1 and don't you dare try to stop me," Scott pulled out his cell phone and dialed without bothering to wipe his hands dry.

This matter had to be resolved first. Then, he would ask Stiles why he kept the diagnosis a secret from him.

"W-Why?" Stiles asked with his voice graveled from retching, shivering out a small smile, "You saved me."

"Because you drowned, Stiles." said the Nogitsune, appearing at Stiles's side. "You are dead."

Stiles found himself observing a very different scene. He could see his withered body sprawled on his bathroom floor and that Scott was doing CPR on him in tears. Stiles blinked hard and the scene changed back. He was sitting with his knees to his chest again, watching Scott talk to the 9-1-1 operator. Trembling and feeling too faint to have a panic attack, Stiles rested his bleeding forehead on his knees.

"I'm alive ... I'm alive ... I'm alive!" he insisted to himself in a voice no louder than a whisper, clutching to his bruised knees harder.

He did not know which reality he was in. He did not know for sure if he was dead or alive. But, the memory of talking to the Nogitsune was coming back. Perhaps that meant something. He did not have the energy to stop Scott from taking him to the hospital. He felt dreadfully hopeless.


	6. The Real Riddle

"9-1-1, what is your emergency?"

Scott pressed his cell phone to his ear, "H-Hello? Yes, my friend just nearly drowned."

"_Nearly_ drowned?" repeated the 9-1-1 operator. "Is the victim breathing?"

"He's awake now, but, I found him unconscious in the ... in the water." Scott recounted, finding the whole experience difficult to put into words.

They had sounded too simple for the trauma he had felt over seeing his longtime best friend - more of a brother to him - lying lifeless in the water. He kept his eye on Stiles, whom was periodically retching and shivering convulsively.

He cleared his throat, "I had to do C-P-R."

Scott needed Stiles to understand the gravity of the situation. But, Stiles appeared to not be paying much attention. He had his forehead on his knees.

"Do you know how long was the victim unconscious?" the 9-1-1 operator asked him.

Stiles shook his head, "No, I wasn't there the whole time."

"That's OK, you've done a great job. We have an ambulance en route to your location," said the 9-1-1 operator. "The victim still needs to be checked over by a doctor. Congratulations for rescuing this victim."

Scott did not feel like he had truly saved Stiles, but, he nodded, "Thanks."

"They will be with you shortly," the 9-1-1 operator said in farewell.

Scott hung up after the 9-1-1 operator and laid his hands on Stiles's quaking shoulders, "Let's move to the front door to wait for the ambulance, alright?"

Stiles sniffled and his voice sounded very scratched-up, deeper than usual, "I-I-I can't ..."

Scott ducked closer to Stiles whom had yet to lift his head, "'_Can't_' what? You're going to the hospital -"

"I can't walk, Scott." Stiles whimpered, his heels sliding forward so that his legs straightened out and his head was left hanging. "I hurt m-my knees, hips. I cut my head ... I can't find a place that doesn't hurt."

This boy sitting across from him was a shadow of his friend. He was close to half the size he had been lately and he appeared to have lost all hope. Without asking, Scott hooked one of his arms underneath Stiles's knees and the other around his waist and heaved. As he had found on the previous Friday, Stiles weight felt lighter than he had anticipated. Stiles cried out in pain when Scott lifted him up into his arms.

Stiles's cry turned into a humorless chuckle, "Without your werewolf-ness ... you couldn't pick me up."

If the situation weren't so bleak, Scott might have laughed. It was these little displays of Stiles's former-self that kept his hope alive.

Scott shook his head, "No, man, I doubt that I couldn't."

Stiles head rolled back limply from shoulder to shoulder as Scott maneuvered to the front of the house. He sat Stiles down on the couch in the living room, helping him lean back slowly.

Stiles's bloodshot doe eyes searched Scott's and he furrowed his brows, "You know now, don't you?" He was interrupted by another violent cough that appeared to rock his entire body. "That's why you came?"

Scott nodded, "Your dad told me." He sank down onto the tea table, their knees pressing together, "I wish it had been you, Stiles. Why didn't you tell me?"

Stiles rubbed his eyes with his long, slender hands, "I'm so sorry, Scott. You're totally justified ... being mad at me."

Scott frowned and shook his head, "I'm not angry with you , Stiles! I'm scared!"

"I wanted to avoid that," Stiles whimpered. "You can't save me from this. I didn't want you to feel ... helpless. It sucks."

"We'll find some way to beat the dementia," Scott swore to him. "I told you that at the hospital. I won't give up and you can't, either."

Stiles's head felt so heavy and his eyes rolled around in his sockets, "I don't ... I don't think it's dementia anymore ..."

Scott suddenly felt like Stiles was miles away. His friend's eyes were unfocused and he was blinking lazily.

"What are you talking about?" Scott demanded, "Stiles? Look at me." He grabbed up the front of Stiles's towel, "Stiles!"

Stiles's eyes remained unfocused, "Leave him alone ... you leave him ... take me instead ..."

Stiles's entire body went limp, but, he continued to stare off into space.

"So, I've chosen a martyr." the Nogitsune drawled, standing behind Scott on the other side of the tea table.

Stiles could tell that Scott wasn't able to see nor hear the dark spirit, "Scott ... run -"

"Want to know why this is good news?" the Nogitsune asked him, leaning over so that his head was right by Scott's face.

"No, please." Stiles begged, keeping his eye on those dripping silver teeth so close to Scott's throat. "I solved ... I solved your riddle!" He winced as a wave of pain pulsated in his head and Scott cupped his face, "Damn you! You swore you'd leave them alone if I did!"

"Stiles!" Scott patted Stiles's face, "Who are you talking to? There's no one else here. It's just you and me, man." He stroked his thumb across Stiles's jutting cheekbone. "Please, answer me. Come on -"

"You've shown your hand, Stiles." the Nogitsune chuckled. "The key to your heart is the lives of those you love. This is the answer to _our _little riddle."

Stiles started to cry, "No!"

Scott glared out the window, "Oh, where _are_ they?"

The station was a five minute drive from the Stilinski residence, but, each minute felt like the passing of an hour.

Stiles's hand suddenly sprung to life and he gripped Scott's arm, "Run, Scott. Run!"

The Nogitsune guffawed at Stiles's vain efforts to send his best friend away and vanished in a cloud of smoke. Stiles's hand slipped off Scott's arm as his eyes rolled upwards. He had exhausted himself, but, he needed to stay awake. Scott moved quickly to sit beside Stiles, trying to get close. He should have dressed him first. He hugged Stiles to his warm chest, rubbing his spindly arms to warm him up.

Scott was starting to wonder if this really was all the dementia. Maybe Stiles was whom the Nogitsune has chosen. But, then again, Stiles's mother had died from the same ailment. Scott didn't know which one was worse. But, if it was the Nogitsune ... maybe, just maybe, he could save his friend. When the ambulance arrived, Scott carried Stiles out the front door and they sat together on their way to the hospital.

The EMTs gave Stiles a heating blanket to replace the soaked bath towel. No one could stop Scott from sticking by his side.


	7. Possession

Scott McCall distinctly remembered his very sick best friend, Stiles Stilinski, mentioning to him that he was nearly a hundred and fifty pounds weeks ago. He had noticed that Stile's face, which had always been thin to begin with, was leaner as of late - to describe it inoffensively. His clothes seemed to have doubled in size, hanging off of him like he was less than a coat hanger. So, when a number over twenty pounds lighter showed up on the scale at the hospital, he wondered why he still felt so disturbed. It was likely because Scott had been treading in a river of denial and was now being pulled under the surface of reality.

Stiles's father was notified before his son was even out of the driveway in the ambulance, so, Scott had to face his failure to reach Stiles in time sooner than he would have wanted.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Stilinski." Scott professed to him as soon as he was close enough. "I broke the speed limit, I swear! I tried to get there as fast as I could -"

But, of course, the sheriff did not blame him.

"I don't get many kids _admitting_ that they broke speed limits," sheriff Stilinski forced a smile. "The main thing is that you got there, Scott. And you saved Stiles."

Scott knew in the back of his mind that Mr. Stilinski had the right reaction. But, for some reason, he _wanted_ to get yelled at. He especially wanted Stiles's father to do it. He needed that therapeutic release. But, Scott accepted that he was not going to get it out of him.

So, he sat stiffly beside him while Stiles was being examined for any water left behind in his lungs. He was also getting an update on his physical health while he was there which was how they found out how much he weighed. It wasn't like there was a scale at the Stilinski house anymore. Scott was left wondering if Stiles felt as disturbed as he did by his dwindling weight.

Scott then thought of what Kira's mother had told him about the WWII camp and how she unleashed the Nogitsune for justice. Stiles's opinion that what was happening to him was not medical started to make sense ... and it did not make Scott feel any better. The only upside is that, if this were the true cause of his declining health, maybe they had a chance to save him.

"Sir, Stiles said something to me back at your house." Scott turned to the sheriff, "Something about the dementia ... that he doesn't believe that he has it."

The sheriff furrowed his brows and focused on his callused hands, "Denial is one of the stages, you know. Scott -"

"I know. But," Scott pressed on, dragged by hope, "I'm starting to think it, too."

He then recounted the story of their failed sleepover to Stiles's father even though he had sworn not to. While doing so, he could hear Stiles's cries for help echo around in his mind and they urged him to get the father to agree.

"I'd never heard him sound so afraid, sir." Scott insisted. "What if he _really _saw someone? What if he's, I don't know, possessed?"

The sheriff looked at him very sternly, "Scott, please. Stop. My son is sick. I need to accept that. It's a waste of time to deny it. I need to be present ... to be there for him. I can't be out in the land of 'What If' -"

"But, _what if_ we could save him?" Scott asked. "Did you even _get _his scans after the electricity went out that day?"

"As a matter of fact, we did. Hospitals have generators as a rule nowadays," said the sheriff gruffly.

"And it was definitely frontal temporal demen-?"

"_Yes_!" Sheriff Stilinski's voice had risen and Scott was silenced. "Please, Scott. Just stop."

His cheeks flushing, Scott turned away from the sheriff and the silence fell between them. After a while, the sheriff noticed that Scott was bouncing his knees agitatedly, wired by apprehension.

"Scott, are you OK?" Stiles's father asked him, laying a hand on his brawny shoulder.

Scott replied thickly, "Yeah ... yeah." He then got to his feet, "No, I'm not. Sorry, I need to get some air."

Pulling his hood up over his head, Scott headed towards the elevator.

* * *

What was probably his very last stroke of luck, Stiles did not get a serious concussion from the Nogitsune slamming his head into the bathroom wall. But, he would likely walk away with a nasty scar for the rest of his life.

Stiles's response to that had been a sarcastic, "Well, _that's _a relief. Better that than brain damage."

The nurse cleaned the cut and, after a few stitches, pressed a band aid over it. Stiles thought the stitches were overkill, but, he was not a professional. The nurse left and he was replaced by a doctor to examine him for any signs that he had any lasting injuries from drowning. Stiles felt a case of déjà vu while laying on the examining table. He was still in just his boxers and had to open up the heating blanket so that the physician could perform an ultrasound scan on his lungs to check for how much water may still be trapped in him.

He had warmed up from the heating blanket, but, he was still trembling - especially his lips. He was finding it difficult to speak without his voice breaking. There was not enough fluid in his lungs to be concerned with, so, Stiles was free to return home. But, not without some words from the doctor.

"Your body weight has dropped, Stiles." said Dr. Schiff. "Now, it could be worse and everyone is different. B-M-I is a bogus way of determining the connection between weight and health." Stiles nodded at that rectified information as the doctor continued, "Yup, it's a whole lot more complicated than most people would like to believe. Spread the word to the insecure kids at your school, will you?

"But, after your physical ... I _am_ obligated to tell you that you're toeing the line of emaciation." He nodded at the indignation on Stiles's face and continued, "Yes. I'm afraid that's the case here. I'm going to have to recommend that your daily intake be monitored to get that taken care of."

Stiles shook his head.

"I can monitor it," Stiles assured him. "I don't need to be monitored -"

"I'm not suggesting that you've got an eating disorder." Dr. Schiff clarified. "We've known your family for quite a while -"

Thinking of his mother, Stiles glanced away with a sniffle.

"- and we know your father to be very busy and that you're on your own most days." Dr. Schiff finished. "Maybe you _can_ deal with it on your own. But, just so you know, if you stay at his weight or dip any lower ... you'll start to have physical repercussions. Some are irreversible. Do you understand me, Stiles?"

Stiles nodded, finally meeting his eyes again, "Yeah, yeah. I get it."

He scratched at his sharp chin disinterestedly. Stiles didn't care how he looked nor what happened to him. The Nogitsune had made a threat against all of the people he loved. He felt himself drifting away, out of focus. He was hardly listening to the doctor any longer, only nodding when he felt the need to.

He lost body heat so quickly nowadays. He pulled the heating blanket about his boney shoulders, burring his nose in it. It took him a second to realize that he was alone in the room and that the doctor had left him. Stiles had been so lost in his own despair to notice. He was sure that the doctor would have escorted him out if he was done.

So, feeling confused, Stiles just remained where he sat on the examining table, his thin calves dangling over the ledge, his back hunched over so that it looked more like a great hump than a spine, shivering slightly beneath his heating blanket.

"You can't have them," he said shakily, wiping his leaking nose on his sharp knuckles. "You'll have to kill me first."

* * *

Scott paced along the sidewalk outlining the hospital, eyeing his shadow casted out on the ground by the crescent moon above. He hoped that he had not upset Sheriff Stilinski with his theory about Stiles. But, he needed to say it out loud and who else would have been better to hear it? There were a few other people out on the sidewalk, too, lost in their own medical dramas. Scott thought of visiting Isaac, wondering if that would take his mind off of the Nogitsune and feeling like an idiot for thinking that.

"SCOTT?" shouted sheriff Stilinski from the distance.

Scott turned on the spot and saw that Stiles's father was running after him with an envelope clutched in his hands.

"What's going on, Mr. Stilinski?" Scott asked, his brown eyes wide.

The sheriff raised a hand while he caught his breath after running, "I thought about what you said and I decided it wouldn't hurt to compare Stiles's results with my wife's -"

He pushed the envelope into Scott's hands and followed him to a street lamp so that he could see the images. Scott looked at the first one of Mrs. Stilinski's brain before she had died and Stiles's from recently. They are more identical than Ethan and Aiden.

"This is medically impossible, right?" asked the sheriff breathlessly. "Right? What does this mean, Scott?"

"I'll hand these to my mom," Scott spun around on the spot as though he'd spot her right when he needed her. "She can have them checked. If we're right -"

"What were you saying about possession?" gasped the sheriff, peering up at the alpha werewolf.


End file.
